


World Standing Still

by afirethatcannotdie



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bars and Pubs, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, Motorcycles, Walk Into A Bar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-09 02:49:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12878586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afirethatcannotdie/pseuds/afirethatcannotdie
Summary: He falls forward, reaches out to steady himself on the nearest human by clutching a soft pair jeans, ripped holes in the knees, and spills his entire beer all over said human’s shoes.“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.“S’ alright. I mean, I might need new shoes, but—”“Cinnamon roll." He can't stop himself; his brain isn't working.“What’s that?” the guy asks, helping him up. His hand is so soft, and Harry doesn’t want to let go.“Your hair looks like a cinnamon roll, you know, all quiff-y, and… and stuff."AU. A first meeting in a pub doesn't go so well.





	World Standing Still

**Author's Note:**

> Something very short and sweet that I conceptualized and wrote in the span of about 24 hours! :)

“Remember what I said,” Niall instructs as they enter the pub through the swinging door.

“I’ve got it,” Harry interrupts. “We have to exchange numbers and I have to actually see him again.”

“That’s right, it doesn’t count if you text for a week and then never speak again.”

“It’s not my fault that Brad dropped off the face of the Earth!” Harry says, sliding onto a bar stool. Brad had been his most recent chance at winning his bet with Niall, but then he’d gone and disappeared. Can’t win a bet that requires you having a third date if you never have a first.

“Brad was a twat. Knew it the second he said his name.”

Harry shrugs one shoulder. “That is probably true.”

The bet had been created a few months ago, when Niall had decided both of them were going through a dry spell. Harry had one serious love interest his first year of uni, but now, halfway through his second, he hasn’t had more than a few drunken hook-ups in dark club bathrooms and once, most notably, in a stranger’s pool.

It’s not that he’s looking for the love of his life. If he was, a bar probably isn’t the place to find it. He just wants to find someone cute to take him on a few dates, wine and dine him a bit.

Turns out Niall feels the same, which is why he’d suggested the bet. Whichever of them gets to a third date first gets their drinks paid for by the other for a whole week. It’s a weird idea, and Harry feels like they’re kind of pimping each other out, but it’s a bit of fun.

The bet’s been going on for the better part of three months without a winner, but that’s not really the point. It’s more about the thrill of the chase.

They get beers and head to a booth in the corner, the one that gives them the best view of anyone who walks through the front door. They’ve got the routine down by now. They talk about nothing at all, and they talk about a lot of things, and they get another round of drinks in between.

On his way back from the bathroom a while later, Harry gets into a conversation with a cute guy, blonde hair with a bit of facial scruff, just how Harry likes, but then his friend drags him away before they can exchange information or even get to know each other a bit.

Strike one.

He thinks he’s faring a bit better when he starts talking to the guitarist from the live band, a quiet guy named Mitch, but then a pretty girl comes right up, steps between Harry and Mitch, and kisses him.

“Hi, I’m Sarah,” she says, shaking his hand. Mitch introduces Harry, and the conversation picks up like nothing’s changed, but after fifteen minutes of discussion about music, Harry excuses himself to go back to Niall. The band’s about to start up again anyway.

“No luck?” he asks.

“Turns out he wasn’t being flirty. Actually, come to think of it, I did most of the talking. Think he was just being polite.”

“Aw, sucks.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, tapping his ankle against Niall’s. “Nice guy, though.”

“Great guitarist,” Niall observes as they start playing again.

“Great guitarist indeed.”

\--

The night passes in a blur of alcohol and dancing on a floor sticky with beer and yelling about how much they love each other and how this is the best night of their lives. All thoughts of the bet get pushed to the side, as they often do on nights like this. Who cares about either of them finding a date when they can stay out late and then end up cuddled together in one of their own beds?

“Who needs cute boys anyway?” Harry yells, engrossed in his dancing, and then he trips over his own two feet.

He falls forward, reaches out to steady himself on the nearest human by clutching a soft pair jeans, ripped holes in the knees, and spills his entire beer all over said human’s shoes.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Harry says, trying to stand up. Niall, laughing in the background, does nothing to help him.

The owner of the ripped jeans is a boy with bright blue eyes, and cheekbones that look like they were sculpted by hand. “S’ alright. I mean, I might need new shoes, but—”

“Cinnamon roll.” He can't stop himself; his brain isn't working.

“What’s that?” the guy asks, helping him up from the ground. The floor at this bar is very, very gross. But this guy, his hand is so soft, and Harry doesn’t want to let go.

“Your hair looks like a cinnamon roll, you know, all quiff-y, and… and stuff. Yeah.”

The guy laughs. “Alright then. I s’pose that’s a compliment.”

“It is,” Harry says, throat dry, and then he finds his brain again. “I’m so sorry about your shoes.”

“That’s okay, I’ll just throw ‘em in the wash.”

There’s a pause in conversation, and Harry wants to ask his name, but then Cinnamon Roll says he needs to go back and find his friends.

“Yeah, alright. Sorry again.”

“No worries, mate,” the guy says, clapping him on the back, a bit awkward about it, and then he’s gone.

Harry finds Niall at their table again. He clearly finds this whole thing absolutely hilarious.

“We can forget about the bet for tonight,” he says, hugging Harry. “I bought you a new beer.”

“What would I do without you?”

“Are you still gonna say that at 2 am when you’re carrying me home from the bar?” Niall asks, clinking their glasses together.

“Dunno, we’ll see.”

\--

He doesn’t need to carry Niall out of the bar, because fifteen minutes later, when they’re halfway through their drinks, Niall gets approached by a cute guy of his own. They disappear into a corner, and Harry, who can’t begrudge him any of it, spends the next hour playing Candy Crush.

When the bartender announces last call, Harry goes in search of Niall, wondering if he should head home while Niall spends the night elsewhere.

Niall tells him no, he’ll be outside shortly, but the way he grins and holds the guy closer by the waist suggests that he might be the one to win the bet first. Well, good for him. Niall deserves something good in his life.

Harry makes his way outside, shivering a bit. He leans against the brick wall of the pub, arms folded, while he waits. He pulls out his phone, ready to resume his game, when he sees the guy from earlier walk out the door.

He swallows hard and runs his fingers through his hair. Just because he fucked it up once doesn’t mean he can’t give it a second chance. Harry just needs to get his attention. But how? The guy is on his own phone, not focused on his surroundings.

A quick glance around shows that the street is full of people his age, nothing to draw attention to himself specifically. And then he catches sight of a motorbike parked a few feet away. Maybe that’ll do it.

He coughs loudly, curses himself for doing something so obvious, and then decides he has nothing to lose and hops on the bike.

That’s step one sorted. He pretends to fiddle with the handles, runs his hand over the buttons and the controls, and then sneaks a glance at the guy. He’s watching him, lips quirked up in a small smile, and alright, that’s step two.

Step three of his plan comes to fruition when the guy starts walking toward him. He looks confident and in control, the exact opposite of how Harry feels right now, and Harry would really, really like to kiss him.

“Hey, I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself earlier. I’m Louis.”

“Harry.” They shake hands, and his hand is even softer than Harry remembers from earlier. He holds on a moment longer than he should, and then releases it, dropping his hand back to the bike.

“Nice ride you’ve got here. Where’d you get it?”

“Oh! Thanks. Bought it off a… off a friend,” Harry manages, stumbling over his words. Louis doesn’t seem to notice.

“You had it long?”

“A couple of years.”

“Does it ride well?” Louis asks, smiling widely. Harry grins back. Maybe he’s actually getting away with this. His mum always did say that he was a good actor.

“Oh, absolutely. Takes me everywhere I need to go, this baby does,” Harry says, patting the control panel. _‘This baby does?’ What the fuck, Styles?_ He actually knows precisely zero things about motorbikes. Hopefully Louis doesn’t ask him for more specifics.

“You know,” Louis says slowly, “I feel like you owe me for spilling a drink on my shoes earlier.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it was my friend who pointed it out. Said that I should get the hot one who bumped into me to buy me a drink. But then you left and the pub closed, and now here we are.”

“Here we are,” Harry repeats faintly. His brain is stuck on _the hot one._

“So I was thinking you could repay me by taking me on a ride on this bike.”

_Shit. Fuck. No._

“I, uh... I can’t. I don’t have the key.”

“Why not? Where is it?”

“Oh, my friend has it. The blonde one I was with, I’m waiting for him to finish whatever he’s doing in there.”

“Oh. That’s a bummer. I was hoping you could take me for a ride,” Louis says, his face falling. Harry doesn’t like his face like that. Someone so pretty should never be frowning.

“Yeah, sorry. We could go for a walk, maybe? Get to know each other?”

Louis thinks about it. “Maybe. Or we could go for a ride on the bike,” he says, and then he pulls a key out of his pocket.

Harry, startled, looks from the key to the bike and back to the key. It takes a moment, and then the answer hits him like a truck. “Fuck. Don’t tell me this is your bike.”

Louis laughs. “It is, yeah. Sorry for messing with you, I just couldn’t resist.”

Harry drops his head into his hands. “God, I am such an idiot.”

“On the contrary, I thought it was cute. Takes balls to do something like that.”

Harry’s face feels hot. “Yeah, well, I’ve got those too. Oh my God. My brain to mouth filter is missing tonight, I think.”

“Would that have anything to do with the cinnamon roll comment?”

Harry looks up to his hair again. It still looks like the swirl of a pastry, so he nods. He’s living through a haze of embarrassment right now. Of _course_ the very thing he tries to do to seem impressive and cool backfires on him. He’s gonna go lay down for nineteen years.

“Texted that one to my hairstylist sister,” Louis continues. “She was very impressed.”

“I’m glad,” Harry says with a small smile. “Well, now that I’ve ruined your shoes _and_ your night _and_ attempted to steal your bike, I’m gonna get going. Nice meeting you.”

“Wait, wait,” Louis says, stopping him with a tug on his wrist. Harry pauses halfway off the bike, ready to hear Louis out. “Don’t go.”

“Don’t go? You’re not pissed I used your own bike to try to woo you?”

“On the contrary, I’m wildly amazed. No one’s ever done that before.”

“Alright then,” Harry says, leaning against the bike, hands in his pockets. "I do like to be the first."

“So I was thinking that you could come home with me,” Louis says, leaning in close to his ear. “Bike’s not the only thing that ride’s well.”

Harry doesn’t need to be asked twice.

\--

The next morning, armed with the knowledge that Louis was right (both the bike _and_ the boy are an incredibly smooth ride), Harry reads a text from Niall, who’d stayed over at that guy’s - Shawn’s - flat.

_Think I’m gonna win the bet._

Harry takes a glance over at Louis, the top of his head poking out over the warm duvet.

 _We’ll see about that,_ Harry texts back, and then he snuggles back into Louis. He's already won.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr [here](http://www.afirethatcannotdie.tumblr.com)! If you liked it, please reblog the [fic post](http://afirethatcannotdie.tumblr.com/post/168088301586/world-standing-still-by-afirethatcannotdie-he)! Thanks for reading :)


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